The Crouch family manor.
This ancient manor, hidden deep in the wilderness, was now shrouded in a deathly silence.
The scent of decay seeped from every crack in the walls, mingling with years of dust and mustiness to create a suffocating gloom.
The Great Hall was unlit.
Only the green flames in the fireplace danced, casting a ghostly glow across the entire room.
At the head of the long table sat an infant.
His skin was a sickly dark red, as though the outer layer had been flayed away, exposing the ugly muscle beneath.
His head was bald, devoid of even a single strand of hair, and covered with bulging veins. His nose was nothing more than two slits, while his lips were so thin they were nearly invisible, exposing two rows of jagged teeth.
Lord Voldemort in his infant form.
At this moment, he sat upright in a high-backed chair specially crafted for him, cushioned with thick velvet so that his small body could barely reach the tabletop.
His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, producing a rhythmic tap... tap... tap...
Below him, more than a dozen Death Eaters lay prostrate on the floor.
They wore identical black robes and hoods, their faces buried deep within the shadows.
In the entire hall, only their suppressed breathing and the occasional sound of someone swallowing nervously could be heard.
No one dared to look up.
No one dared to speak.
No one dared to move an inch.
Lord Voldemort's gaze slowly swept across the prostrate figures.
There was no emotion in those scarlet eyes, though they lingered for a fleeting moment on certain individuals.
Then, he spoke.
His voice was hoarse, cold, and carried the grating texture of metal scraping against metal as it echoed through the empty hall.
"In the time I have been away... how has the plan progressed?"
His gaze settled on the figure to his right.
There, Barty Crouch Jr. was bowing lower than anyone else, his forehead nearly pressed against the floor.
Barty's muffled voice rang out, tinged with undisguisable nervousness.
"Respected Master... there has been a slight hitch in the plan."
Lord Voldemort's fingers stopped tapping.
The entire hall fell into a deathly silence.
The Death Eaters on the floor held their breath, terrified of making even the slightest sound.
"A hitch?"
"But it is still under control!" Barty hurriedly added. "Master, please believe me. Everything is under control!"
Lord Voldemort said nothing.
He merely watched Barty.
After several long seconds, he finally spoke.
"What hitch?"
Barty took a deep breath.
"Master... that former student of yours... for some reason, he was also selected by the Goblet of Fire."
Lord Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Lynn?"
"Yes, Master." Barty lowered his voice even further. "He seemed to have discovered my disguise, forcing me to abandon Moody's identity and assume a more covert one to continue lurking."
After speaking, he remained prostrate on the floor, silently awaiting Lord Voldemort's response.
The hall fell into deathly silence once more.
Lord Voldemort let out a short, cold laugh.
"Lynn... merely a talented young wizard. In the face of true power, such petty tricks are not worth mentioning."
Seeing that his Master showed no displeasure, Barty steeled himself and continued.
"There is one more matter, Master."
"What is it?"
"The Daily Prophet has already published the news of Barty Crouch's death," Barty said. "The funeral will be held at the Ministry of Magic in three days."
Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes.
"Barty Crouch Jr.... do you wish to attend your father's funeral?"
Barty lowered himself even further.
"Master, I have no father!" His voice carried an almost fanatical fervor. "I have only one Master! And that is you!"
Lord Voldemort remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
"Master, I do not wish to attend the funeral!" Barty's voice grew sharp with excitement. "I merely thought... since the plan to announce your return at the Quidditch World Cup failed last time, why not take advantage of this opportunity..."
His words came faster and faster, while his eyes shone brighter and brighter.
"The officials of the Ministry of Magic will all be there! Those arrogant fools... those traitors who betrayed you... those ants who once showed you disrespect... they will all gather in one place!"
"The scale will be large enough! The influence will be wide enough! If we can announce your return to the world on such an occasion—"
He slammed his forehead heavily against the floor.
"It would be an even more shocking declaration than the Quidditch World Cup!"
The hall fell silent once again.
Lord Voldemort sat quietly at the head of the table, his fingers once more tapping lightly against the armrest.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The sound echoed clearly through the silent hall.
After a long while—
"You have put thought into this, Crouch."
Lord Voldemort finally spoke.
His voice remained hoarse and cold, but this time, Barty detected a trace of approval.
"Proceed according to your plan."
Barty's entire body trembled.
This time, with ecstasy.
"Thank you, Master! Thank you for your trust, Master! I will not disappoint you! I will—"
"Withdraw."
Lord Voldemort's voice cut him off.
Barty immediately fell silent.
Still remaining bowed, he shuffled backward before rising to his feet and retreating into the shadows with his head lowered.
Lord Voldemort's gaze shifted away from him and swept once more across the other prostrate figures.
The hall returned to its deathly silence.
Only the green flames in the fireplace continued to burn silently.
...
Elsewhere, in the Hogwarts Great Hall.
It was lunchtime.
The four house tables were laden with steaming food, while students gathered in twos and threes, chatting as they ate.
The buzz of conversation mingled with the crisp clatter of cutlery, creating a lively atmosphere.
At the staff table, the professors were also enjoying their lunch.
Professor Moody limped over to his usual seat and sat down.
He adjusted his wooden leg into a comfortable position before pulling a small pouch from his robes and placing it on the table.
The pouch contained all sorts of tiny bottles and jars, their contents glimmering in the sunlight.
Lynn sat near the end of the Hufflepuff table, directly facing the staff table.
While calmly cutting the steak on his plate, he observed Moody's movements out of the corner of his eye.
He watched Moody remove a small transparent vial from the pouch.
The bottle was tiny, scarcely larger than a thumb, and filled with a clear liquid.
He uncorked it, tilted the bottle, and let a single drop fall onto the food before him.
The drop landed on a roasted potato without causing the slightest change.
He added another drop to his pumpkin juice.
Still nothing happened.
The liquid Moody was using was a poison-detection solution he had brewed himself. It was said to turn a deep purple upon contact with any known poison, with absurdly high sensitivity.
He stared at the food for several seconds, confirmed that no color change had occurred, and put the bottle away.
However, Moody still didn't begin eating immediately.
Instead, he pulled a small knife from his waist.
It wasn't large, but the blade was razor-sharp.
Holding the handle, he lightly sliced his fingertip—
A tiny cut appeared.
Blood slowly welled up, gathering into a small crimson bead.
Moody moved his hand over his cutlery, allowing the droplet to fall onto the fork.
He shifted slightly and let another drop fall onto the rim of the plate.
After setting down the knife, he drew his wand and pointed it at the blood-stained utensils.
A beam of magic disappeared into them.
The blood showed no abnormalities.
It didn't boil.
It didn't change color.
No strange smoke rose from it.
There were no curses on the food.
Only then did Moody nod in satisfaction.
He picked up his fork, carefully speared a piece of roasted potato, and placed it into his mouth.
Lynn watched the entire process from the Hufflepuff table and almost couldn't hold back his laughter.
He sighed inwardly.
Professor Moody, even you can overlook something.
Who said a curse has to be placed on the food or the cutlery?
After lunch, the students gradually left the Great Hall.
The four house tables slowly emptied, and the professors at the staff table dispersed in twos and threes.
Lynn didn't leave.
After most of the hall had emptied, he stood up and casually strolled across the vacant tables toward the staff table.
He stopped beside the seat Moody had just vacated.
His gaze settled on the chair.
There were several short gray-white hairs resting on the seat.
Lynn bent down for a closer look.
They were indeed hairs.
He carefully picked them up one by one.
In total, he collected around a dozen.
Lynn tucked the hairs into his pocket and nodded in satisfaction.
Polyjuice Potion required a part of the target's body, and hair was by far the most convenient option.
With these, he could transform into Moody's appearance.
As for why he wanted to become Moody...
The reason was simple.
He intended to stir up trouble at the funeral this weekend, and using his own face was completely out of the question.
He still cared about his reputation.
Besides, if he went as himself, Barty might spot him and flee on the spot.
That wouldn't be any fun.
He needed a different identity.
---
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